


et cetera

by jezzberry



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cats, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, One Shot Collection, Romance, Soulmate-Identifying Events, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8328940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jezzberry/pseuds/jezzberry
Summary: Featuring, among other things: homesickness, longing, desire, cats, and soulmates.A collection of unrelated drabbles.





	1. snowflakes on your tongue

**Author's Note:**

> please check ratings and warnings before every chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Viktor misses Russia, just a bit, but Yuuri is worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G, no warnings apply

It’s a cold night. Yuuri shivers, burrowing deeper under the blankets and blearily feeling around the bed. He expects his fingers to brush warm, bare skin, but finds the spot next to him empty. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes and groans. Viktor is not in bed.

Something shifts in the far corner of his room, and Viktor’s form slowly solidifies into focus. He’s standing by the window, pulling gently on the slats in the shades to peer outside. Soft moonlight quivers around his face, and Yuuri sees an expression he’s yet unfamiliar with.

“Viktor?” he whispers. It seems wrong, somehow, to break the stillness and peace of the night, but he’s mildly concerned.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Viktor whispers back, turning away from the window and padding back to the bed.

“No, s’just cold.”

“I’ll warm you right up,” Viktor jokes, and Yuuri is so used to this that he can’t stop a tired smile from pulling at his lips as Viktor crawls back into bed. He smells crisp and fresh, like the January wind, and Yuuri falls asleep with his nose pressed into Viktor’s shoulder.

.

The next time Yuuri wakes, it is morning, and Viktor is gone again. The shades have been pulled up, and the room is unnaturally bright, and Yuuri grumbles an incoherent mess of words he thinks string together to make something like “it’s too early for this.” It’s only when a frigid draft sweeps through the room that Yuuri realizes that not only are the shades up, but the window is, in fact, open just a touch.

Yuuri promptly rolls out of bed, dons the warmest sweater he can find, and marches out of his room and to main area. Viktor is already there, finishing a bowl of what looks like miso soup, an olive jacket draped over his shoulders.

“Viktor, why is the window open?”

“The weather is great!”

Yuuri feels his breath catch in his throat at the look Viktor sends him. He’s happy, not happier than usual, but happy in a different way. As if he hadn’t been living to the full extent of his ability and now, suddenly, he is. Yuuri’s eyes are drawn to the front door. A pair of dark boots sits on the mat in front of the entryway, wet, and he thinks he sees a clump of white thawing by the soles. He steps to the kitchen window, confirming his suspicions with the white blanket lying undisturbed outside.

“It snowed overnight,” he marvels.

Viktor grins at him. “Let’s go outside.”

Ironically enough, especially as an ice skater, Yuuri is not particularly fond of the winter. He gets cold easily, and the tip of his nose, ears, and his fingers never seem to be warm enough. But Viktor pulls out his winter jacket from the back of the closet, and Yuuri doesn’t think he has a say in the matter. He also doesn’t think he’d deny the invitation, not with Viktor so excited.

Outside, the wind bites fiercely, stronger than the draft from Yuuri’s window. There can’t be more than ten centimeters of snow on the ground, but it’s enough for Viktor, who steps right into it. They take a walk, Yuuri on the sidewalk, which has already been cleared of snow in some places, and Viktor along the snow-laden grass.

“Is that what you were doing last night?”

Viktor hums. “I was watching the snow fall.” And with the tone in his voice and the expression on his face that Yuuri vaguely recalls from last night, Yuuri finally understands the fleeting look. _Nostalgia._

“Do you miss Russia?” he asks carefully.

Viktor smiles, and there again is that emotion, flickering like a candle, staying for the slightest bit longer than it had last night. “Of course I do. It was my home for twenty-seven years. But if I went back, I would miss Japan, too.” It’s like he senses, somehow, what Yuuri is thinking and the twinge of guilt he feels for making Viktor stay. Yuuri still wonders, often, how Viktor can be such a selfish creature and yet so selfless all at once.

Viktor steps closer, grabbing Yuuri’s hand and twining their fingers together. He brushes a kiss on Yuuri's cheek, soft exhale fanning over Yuuri's skin.

“Your hands are warm,” Yuuri mumbles, dipping his chin into his scarf.

“Your hands are cold,” Viktor counters, and tucks Yuuri’s hand into the pocket of his jacket along with his own.

They walk for a while, and Yuuri watches their breaths mist over their mouths and listens to the crunch of their boots on clean snow, and thinks that maybe winter isn’t so bad.

Later, when they get back to the house, Viktor prepares a mug of hot chocolate and a bowl of miso soup, and they sit, curled comfortably around each other on the couch. Viktor hums a soft tune that he informs Yuuri is a Russian carol, and Yuuri finds himself dozing off to sleep.

“Hey, Viktor,” he says, eyes closed. “Let’s visit Russia sometime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my writing, please consider leaving me a small tip on my [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/jezzberry)


	2. Melting Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Could you please write more vikturi fluff? I'm not asking too much. Just them kissing and cuddling before sleep, or small talks on a couch ^-^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is now a collection of drabbles ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Rated G for get me a toothbrush my teeth are rotting from all this fluff  
> no warnings apply

Yuuri cherishes these moments the most, when the world has settled and the air is heavy with night. The inn is never truly quiet, always humming softly with the dishwasher or buzzing from the light out in the hallway, the splashing of water eternally present if he just closes his eyes and listens. It’s the calm before the storm, the night before they are to fly out to China, but for once, Yuuri feels like he can breathe. Somewhere far away, anxiety simmers, but Yuuri knows better than to let it ruin his last few hours at home for a while.

The silence doesn’t last long, as it never can with Viktor, and the door to Yuuri’s room slams open. Light pools from the hallway onto the floor, creeping along the walls stripped bare of posters only recently. Viktor had found them anyway, had rolled along Yuuri’s floor for whatever reason and pulled the posters out from under his bed when a corner had caught his eye, so Yuuri can put them back up if he really wants to.

“Yuuri, you should be sleeping,” Viktor declares, and Yuuri wonders what he would have done if he’d really been sleeping when Viktor barged into his bedroom.

Yuuri studies him, squinting to get a better look at the shadows slipping over his face. Viktor is just this side of tipsy, cheeks rosy, smile wide and uninhibited the way only Yuuri gets to see. Yuuri knows now that there are many different smiles to Viktor. A smile for the cameras, a smile for his selfies to satisfy his Instagram followers, a smile for Yuuri’s parents, a smile for Yuuri’s friends, a smile for Viktor’s old coach and a smile for Viktor’s friends. There are smiles for when he’s tense or when he’s nervous, when he’s sad, or angry, or frustrated, or trying not to smile. Yuuri has documented them all. So Yuuri knows that Viktor’s smile now is the one reserved for Yuuri, when Viktor drops his barriers and bares himself for Yuuri, paints his heart onto his sleeve so they can be equals.

“You did it, Yuuri,” Viktor says, stepping into the room and pushing the door closed gently behind him. “I knew you would.”

Viktor has said this already, this the fourth time in one night, so Yuuri doesn’t say anything in response. Viktor grins again, pulling Yuuri in for a hug, nuzzling his nose in the crook of Yuuri’s neck.  

“We’re going to China,” Yuuri says, as if he still can’t believe it. It’s been weeks now, months, and yet Yuuri sometimes finds himself wondering if this is all real, if he won’t wake up in the morning to a sinking heart and a realization that of course, it was all too good to be true.

And then Viktor kisses him. It scares Yuuri, occasionally, how well Viktor can read him, how Viktor just _knows_ what Yuuri is thinking. Viktor guides him back until his knees hit the edge of his bed, and he falls back, lets Viktor splay him out and kiss the air right out of him. Yuuri kisses back, always eager, sneaks his hands under Viktor’s shirt to feel the warm skin underneath. Viktor chuckles against his lips and presses their foreheads together the way he knows Yuuri likes all too much. They’ve tested their limits before, but tonight is not the night to cross those lines again, not with an early morning flight and hours of practice ahead.

So instead they lay together on their sides, legs entangled, lips a hairsbreadth apart so that Viktor barely even has to move for his lips to skim across Yuuri’s. Yuuri’s hasn’t removed his hand, leaving it against Viktor’s thrumming heartbeat.

Yuuri thinks that he was wrong before. _These_ are the best moments, the ones he cherishes the most. The ones where Viktor is all that Yuuri can see, hear, smell, feel, breathe.

“You’re amazing, Yuuri,” Viktor says with such utter conviction that Yuuri doesn’t even think to argue. “You’re going to go out there and show them all just how amazing you are. And then we’ll go to Russia. And I’ll show you off to all my friends, and they’ll be so jealous because you’re all mine and they can never have you the way I do.”

Yuuri can’t help but laugh, scratching gently at Viktor’s skin with the hand he still has trapped beneath Viktor’s shirt. “You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”

Viktor kisses him in retaliation. “I’m not drunk. I’m pleasantly buzzed. And that doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, then.”

Viktor pauses. “What promise?”

“That you’ll introduce me to your friends.”

Viktor agrees readily, dipping down to nibble at Yuuri’s lips. He smells like katsudon, and Viktor marvels at how that smell has long since become associated with warmth and comfort and—and home.

“Viktor, sleep,” Yuuri demands.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

They fall asleep like that, Viktor’s nose smushed into Yuuri’s hair and Yuuri’s head tucked under Viktor’s chin. Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy i am really capitalizing on that home thing idk man i am sentimental ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> If you like my writing, please consider leaving me a small tip on my [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/jezzberry)


	3. Flowers for My Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri bites, but Otabek loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did someone ask for a yutabek a/b/o? no? well here, have one anyway.  
> heats in this 'verse occur 3 times a year (every four months) bc monthly heats have got to be impossible to live through and make no sense to me. i'm p sure yutabek are humans in this, not werewolvees
> 
> Rated T for teenagers planning about having sex  
> no warnings apply bc they don't actually do anything but they're in their final year of hs, otabek is 18 yuri is 17 if anyone cares

“Hey.”

Yuri stubbornly doesn’t greet him, steps back and says instead, “Come in.”

It’s when Yuri turns to head inside that Otabek catches a whiff of something, feels his heartbeat instinctively quicken, blood warming.

“Oh.” It’s a surprised sound. He doesn’t mean to let it slip, but he’s caught off guard, something that Otabek rarely experiences.

Yuri goes rigid, as if he hadn’t been expecting for Otabek to notice. The smell is still faint, but Otabek is sure that Yuri knows it’s obvious, certainly for an alpha, if not quite for a beta. There’s more meaning to the fact that Yuri has invited him to his house, then, if he’s this close. They’ve only been together for three months, so they haven’t had the chance to discuss what to do or what lines to draw. Otabek supposes Yuri intends to discuss it now.

“I _will_ bite you,” Yuri growls. It means Otabek isn’t allowed to say anything. He slips his shoes off by the doorway, puts them neatly by Yuri’s battered sneakers, and walks past him on the way to the living room.

“I know you will.”

They have a funny kind of relationship, still clumsy, choppy, not quite sure where their limits start or where they end. Yuri is still coming to terms with the fact that he has the capability to like someone, let alone that someone would like him with the pure adoration Yuri sees in Otabek’s eyes every once in a while but pretends to ignore.

Otabek helps himself to a cup of tea, and makes one for Yuri even though Yuri has a habit of taking a couple sips and leaving the rest to cool and stain the cups. In the living room, Yuri forces a PS3 controller into his hands and they play a game Otabek knows little of—something with angels and demons and all manner of mythical creatures. They’re sitting close to each other; closer by what Otabek is sure must be two centimeters, thighs nearly touching when there’s always been at least a bit of visible couch between them. He knows he’s high-strung, every detail sharpened into focus. It could be the effect of the weak scent of Yuri’s encroaching heat, but Otabek rather thinks it’s the idea that Yuri trusts him to the point that he would allow Otabek to see him through their first heat together, just three months into their relationship. They always go at their own pace, sure, with little regard for what others think, but somehow Otabek had simply forgotten about heats. He’s at a bit of a loss.

Yuri’s smell sharpens throughout the evening, and Otabek knows he’s not subtle at all with the way he’s steadily leaning into Yuri for more of the aroma.

Finally, Yuri snaps, sour. “ _Well_?”

“Well what?”

“What do I smell like?”

Otabek considers this. He’s not one to name or label things, but Yuri’s smell is certainly appealing—extremely so.

“Like a forest. Pine, probably. Moss. Fresh earth.” He isn’t great with words, either, but he’s always been able to read Yuri, and he knows just how much the answer pleases him before Yuri even says anything to that tune.

Yuri slouches, crossing his legs. His knee rests comfortably on Otabek’s thigh, now. Otabek takes this as an invitation, dares to turn and bury his nose in the crook of Yuri’s neck, inhaling his scent and feeling warmth flood from his fingertips to his toes.

“What about me? What do I smell like?” he asks.

“Flowers.”

Otabek hides his smile against Yuri’s skin. “Okay.” Yuri smells a bit like them too—just a hint of lavender or jasmine—but Otabek is sure he’ll be better off with Yuri not knowing that particular detail.

“I won’t be at school the next few days,” Yuri declares after a minute. Otabek has long since abandoned the duty of manning his controller, and Yuri has pulled out a 3DS from beneath the couch cushion, idly pushing at the buttons. Otabek waits for him to continue. “You can stay here, too. If you want.” Yuri won’t say he wants Otabek to stay, with all of the implications that staying brings, but Otabek knows.

“I would like that.”

Otabek feels more than sees the way Yuri relaxes, hears his heartbeat slow, smells what is unmistakably the sweetness of a pleased omega. Yuri mellows out, voice softening, less guarded. 

“Okay.”

“How long?”

“Usually three days. Four if I’m unlucky.”

“What should I bring?” Otabek has never done this before, but he’s paid careful attention in his classes and he’s pretty sure he knows how to treat Yuri right. He’ll need a few changes of clothing, probably all his sweatshirts and pants so that Yuri can feel comfortable cuddled up to him. It’s an attractive idea, being curled up with Yuri for an entire three days (four if he’s lucky.) He wonders if Yuri would appreciate bathing with Otabek’s body wash and shampoo. It’s soothing to any omega to smell of their alpha, but Otabek suspects Yuri will be too proud this time around to succumb to such urges.

“Your blankets,” Yuri says instead. “I like them.” He hesitates, like he wants to reveal more, but leaves the words unsaid, guessing—correctly—that Otabek understands that Yuri would appreciate being wrapped in blankets soaked with his alpha’s scent.

“I’ll get everything ready now, then. The sooner I leave the sooner I’ll be back. If you need anything from the convenience store or something, text me a list and I’ll get it.” He’s eager, of course he is, but he’s rushing because the clock is ticking, and when Yuri shifts to let him stand, the wave of Yuri’s scent that washes over him is now pungent. He strips off his sweater, left in just the gray t-shirt underneath, and gives it to Yuri. It used to be customary, several generations ago, for the alpha to offer something of value to an omega before spending a heat together. The tradition has long faded, but Otabek is openly a fan of romantic things like those, and promises himself not to return to Yuri with empty hands. For now, the sweater will tide him over, with Otabek’s scent and warmth, if nothing else.

“But you’ll be cold,” Yuri mutters.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Yeah.” Yuri is already unfurling from his position on the couch, turning to his bedroom. Otabek jams his feet into his shoes, sees Yuri wave tentatively, almost reluctantly, and smiles, wide. He’ll bring a bouquet of flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my writing, please consider leaving me a small tip on my [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/jezzberry)


	4. breathlessly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: oh man oh man I love the yutabek abo thing you posted on AO3. The little details of alphas giving their omegas something of value before a heat were especially lovely. And Otabek loving old-timey romantic stuff like that kills me. Because Yuri definitely deserves romance. I need more of it! Would you consider writing more of that verse? Please pretty please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time someone actually DID ask for yutabek a/b/o lmao so i have an excuse  
> this is a continuation from chap 3
> 
> Rated T for teens still not actually doing the do because i'm not sure if the requester wanted the smut or not ;;;; (if y'all want smut tell me explicitly you want smut otherwise i'm assuming you don't want it)

“What in the world did you buy? All I needed was a pack of water bottles and some snacks,” Yuri grunts, trying to peer around Otabek and count the number of bags he has.

“I brought this thing,” Otabek says, pulling out a box of tea from one of the plastic bags in his hands. “Calming Yogi Tea, with chamomile, lemongrass and… Gotu Kola. I'm not really sure what that is exactly. Also some granola energy bars without nuts. These cookies. And those cookies. Some chips, chocolate wafers, a few manga books. Also these.” Otabek pulls the flowers out last, an arrangement of roses, carnations, and various other flowers Otabek doesn’t know the name of because he’s never had to do this before. Yuri stares at them for a while, upper lip curling in apparent disgust as he plucks them from Otabek’s arms and cradles them in his own, nose shoved into one of the roses to smell it.

“I didn’t ask for any of that,” Yuri growls.

“I know. It’s for me.” But they both know that Otabek doesn’t like chocolate wafers, and doesn’t read manga, and he prefers his granola bars to come with the nuts.

Yuri scowls at the bouquet, but Otabek is sure there aren’t any jasmines in there, so the nearly overwhelming scent of jasmine can only be that of a pleased omega. Yuri looks at him sharply, and Otabek guesses he’s emitting the scent of a proud alpha in response.

“Go put these in a vase,” Yuri says.

“Right.”

He puts the vase beneath the windowsill and the snacks under the bed for later, then pulls his blankets from out of the duffle bag he’d brought with him. He drapes them over Yuri, who has slid under the duvet of his own bed, only his eyes and the top of his head visible as he watches Otabek puttering about the room. Otabek has to admit that it’s rather odd, in a good way, to know exactly what Yuri is feeling by the way his smell changes. It’s not that Otabek has ever had any trouble reading Yuri, but neither of them has ever consciously tried to be more open or expressive.

Yuri likes it, the way Otabek is rearranging Yuri’s room to be _their_ room for the next few days, likes it a _lot_ and Otabek is practically intoxicated by the thick scent of extreme satisfaction. He has never been as sure of Yuri’s emotions as he is now.

Otabek is predictably nervous, because he knows it’s the first time either of them has spent a heat with someone else, and he’s really not sure what Yuri will be like. He hasn’t even been hit with the first wave, but Yuri has already shown a completely different, unexpected side of him, with which Otabek is of course no less smitten.

Otabek stops hanging up his clothes in Yuri’s closet for a moment. “Are you—”

Yuri’s scent instantly sours. “If you are about to ask me whether I’m sure, I will kick you out.”

Yuri is just bluffing, Otabek knows, but he gets the point. “Did you tell your grandpa?” He asks instead. It’s a bit of an awkward question, but Otabek would rather face the minor awkwardness now than the major awkwardness later of being caught in bed with Yuri by his uninformed grandfather.

“Yeah. He left the house to us.”

“That’s very nice of him.”

“Stop stalling and get the fuck over here.”

The sound that leaves Otabek’s lips is something akin to a chuckle of surprise, certainly amusement, because _god_ he’s been thinking way too hard and Yuri read him like an open book. It’s so unlike him to be so wishy-washy, such a pansy, as Yuri would say. Yuri is waiting expectantly, eyebrow raised and entirely unimpressed. He’s not holding the covers up for Otabek or anything, but he’s far enough to one side that the invitation is clear.

Otabek shucks his shirt off, changes his jeans to a pair of clean, comfortable sweats, an involuntary smile tugging at his lips when he smells something like appreciation emanating from the bed. When he lifts the duvet to crawl into the bed, the burst of forest and moss and jasmine is almost strong enough to send him reeling. He hadn’t realized how quickly Yuri’s heat had been building, with most of the scent trapped beneath the blankets. The blush dancing on Yuri’s cheeks hadn’t been there before, and Otabek isn’t sure whether he should attribute it to the heat or them being in bed together.

“What do you want me to do?” Otabek won’t touch Yuri until he’s given express permission, even if he can feel his own blood nearly singing, heart beating as if it wants to jump out of his chest. He’s good at maintaining control over his body, the way many alphas are not. Even if Yuri says no, at this point when they’re so close, Otabek would have no problem stopping. That, perhaps, is why Yuri trusts him so, because he knows this, too.

“Less questions, more kissing,” Yuri says.

He’s already pressed close, forehead knocking against Otabek’s collarbone, warm breath tickling his skin. Otabek smooths a hand down Yuri’s spine, tracing over his flimsy, already sweat-soaked t-shirt soothingly. The touch seems to calm Yuri down, his shoulders relaxing, and Otabek’s following. A relaxed omega means a relaxed alpha, just as an anxious omega makes an anxious alpha. Eventually, Yuri himself climbs on top of Otabek, kissing him fiercely, no different from his normal self.

“More touching,” Yuri tells him in between kisses, and Otabek gladly lets his hands slide beneath Yuri’s shirt, rubbing at his sides, thumbing his ribcage.

“Mine,” he says, quietly, determinedly. At least for the next few days, (hopefully forever) Yuri is indeed his.

Yuri shudders, all too pleased, smiling breathlessly, beautifully, and Otabek kisses him again to drink it all in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's winter break so i'm going through the requests now hopefully i'll get them all done  
> If you like my writing, please consider leaving me a small tip on my [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/jezzberry)


	5. Leopard Print is Cooler in Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Maybe some kind of soulmate au with yuri and Otabek? ❤️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soulmate au where you see in black and white until you meet eyes with your soulmate after turning 13, at which point you start seeing in color  
> they're both skaters here but this doesn't follow the storyline of yoi at all
> 
> Rated T for too many f-bombs (actually there are only 3 but i feel like i need to mention that)

On his thirteenth birthday, Yuri has better things to do than think about soulmates. He is an up and coming figure skater, with dreams of making it to the top and showing that stupid (amazing) Viktor Nikiforov that Yuri is way, _way_ better.

“Yuratchka.” His grandfather has finished lighting the candles. It’s never occurred to Yuri that it’s a bit lonely in their small apartment, just him and his grandfather, with a cake too big for two. He’s happiest like this, and he doesn’t need anyone else. “Come, make a wish.”

Yuri wishes, like he has every year without fail, to one day beat Viktor Nikiforov on the ice. He doesn’t think about soulmates at all until halfway through his second slice of cake, when his grandfather asks, “Did you wish to meet your soulmate soon?”

“What?” Yuri swallows the next bite slowly. It hadn’t occurred to him at all that now that he is thirteen, he can meet his soulmate. It could be anyone. A childhood friend, a fellow skater, a fan, and he wouldn’t know until he met eyes with them for the first time since turning thirteen, regardless of whether they had met eyes before. “Oh. No. I don’t really care about soulmates.”

His grandfather chuckles, shakes his head, and puts another slice of cake on Yuri’s plate.

But even though Yuri doesn’t have any interest in a soulmate, the thought sleeps at the back of his head, and, unnoticeable to him, he keeps his chin up higher. For a while, he subconsciously makes it a point to meet eyes with everyone, a common habit for anyone who had yet to find their soulmate. When he realizes what he’s doing, he makes up for it by sculpting a look of permanent anger, so that he’s less searching for his soulmate and more glaring at everyone in his way so they know who’s boss. He proudly wears the title of “Russian punk.”

Yuri is very much okay not having found his soulmate yet. He doesn’t think he can handle a screaming fangirl like JJ’s girlfriend, and he definitely doesn’t need that wimpy, Japanese excuse for a soulmate that Viktor has. He’s not sure what his tastes are or what he wants, so he’d rather just not deal with any of this at all. The ice is his soulmate. (Even if that sounds like something really pathetic that only Viktor would say, because Viktor always says pathetic things.)

Apparently, life has a very different idea of what Yuri should be focusing on.

They’re on their way to another competition, having just confirmed their registration and now heading to the rink. Yuri doles out his glare liberally, more than pleased at the way several people instantly shrink from him. There’s someone walking toward their general direction a little too easily, and Yuri glares at him, too. The eyes that look back at him are not at all afraid.

And suddenly, everything blossoms, like ripples starting from deep brown eyes to dark hair and pale skin and bleeding into the rest of the world, and—what.

“What. The fuck,” Yuri says, and stops. He prides himself on his calmness, the tranquil but forceful enunciation of a very fitting expletive. In fact, he likes it so much that he repeats it. “What. The fuck.”

“Yuri, language,” Yakov snaps.

This time, Yuri says it to spite him. “What. The fuck.”

Whoever he is, with the deep brown eyes and the dark hair and pale skin, says nothing. His lips are as straight, eyes as unmoving, expression as stoic, as before. A tiny piece of Yuri squeaks something about _maybe you’re not his soulmate_ because as much as his brain has not had the chance to process what exactly has happened, his heart sure doesn’t need anywhere near as much time and has already come to terms with this—this thing. Either way, Yuri promptly quashes that piece of himself like he would a cockroach.

Deep brown eyes and dark hair and pale skin— _shit_ , he’s actually good looking—nods slowly. “Yuri Plisetsky,” he says. “I’m Otabek Altin.”

Yuri recognizes him, yes. They’ve never actually met, but he’s certainly heard of the hero of Kazakhstan, a rival to keep a close eye on. This entire situation is ridiculous. They have a competition in a couple of hours. They’ll be competing against each other, because there’s no other reason for Otabek to be here.

Yakov has also stopped. He knows Yuri isn’t one to stop just because another skater is coming toward them. Maybe it’s also something in Yuri’s expression that has changed. Maybe Yuri isn’t doing as good a job staying calm as he thought he was.

“Yuri—” Yakov starts, but Yuri isn’t paying attention.

“I will beat you,” Yuri tells Otabek, because he’s not sure what else to say and challenging others is what he’s best at.

Otabek nods again. Not in confirmation to Yuri’s statement, but rather an acceptance of his challenge. Yuri hates the fact that he knows exactly what Otabek means. He hates how much he likes the fact that the competition is what Otabek is focusing on as well, not the fact that they’re soulmates.

Yuri does, actually, win. Otabek takes second place, behind by only a few points, and despite his victory Yuri feels very much threatened. He’ll have to train harder.

They exchange phone numbers and then part ways. They’re sure to be seeing much more of each other soon, so Yuri is not worried. He wants to say that the whole soulmate thing is just anticlimactic, but when he spends the next hour wondering whether he should text first or wait, he admits defeat to this new world of colors. (He ends up texting first, with a very beat-around-the-bush, ambiguous “Wow, the sky is really blue” to which Otabek replies “Your eyes are kind of like the sky,” and Yuri promptly shoves his face in his pillow and wonders if it’s possible to smother himself.)

.

Yuri decides that, even now, with the ability to see color, he still can’t understand what Viktor and Yakov have against his fashion. In fact, he thinks everything is even cooler, with that lovely shade of chestnut-bronze-tawny and spots of honey-saffron-amber. And leather doesn’t have to be all black ( _god_ , he loves his red leather jacket.) Color, Yuri decides, is great.

Yuri buys a book of colors and learns so many synonyms for brown it’s not even funny. He is not obsessed, he tells himself. He’s not. It’s just that color is the only connection he has to Otabek (along with the number saved under _Beka_ in his phone) until he sees him again. At least Otabek doesn’t have anything against his cool animal prints.

Yuri kind of sees why Otabek is his soulmate. No, not kind of, it’s so obvious it’s embarrassing, because Yuri is absolutely smitten and anyone can see it. They’re meant for each other, as soulmates always are, and even if Yuri didn’t really care about finding his soulmate, now he can’t stop thinking about him. It’s not distracting, like he thought it would be. It’s his motivation, because every competition means a chance to see Otabek, to stand beside him on the podium with medals around their necks, even if sometimes he gets the silver and not the gold (because Otabek deserves that gold too.) Not that he’d ever dream about letting Otabek win—he’s sure that if he ever did, or vice versa and Otabek let _him_ win, he’s sure that, soulmates or no, they would break it off. But he’s glad that he’s never had to say it. That Otabek just knows, and expects Yuri to know the same.

Yeah. Colors are great, but Yuri thinks that soulmates—that _Otabek_ —is even better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll write one more a/b/o continuation of chapter 3/4 but you guys have got to stop requesting those lmfao  
> If you like my writing, please consider leaving me a small tip on my [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/jezzberry)


	6. In Which Yuri is the Savior of Cats and Otabek is His Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Domestic setting where Yuri brings home yet another fucking cat and Otabek is like sIGH.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rated G for jesus how much fluffier can this get

It’s not like Yuri goes outside with the sole purpose of hunting down yet another stray to take in. It’s that this city has a serious problem with stray cats and Yuri will be damned if he lets them all starve on the streets or be taken to a shelter only to get put down later. As a kid, he’d watched all the little boys of the neighborhood abuse any stray they came across, pelting it with sticks and stones and whatever else they could wrap their sweaty, chubby hands around. He had hated it then, and he hates it now. He hates looking at malnourished felines, frightened by human contact because humans, after all, are the worst monsters there are. He hates the way their pelts, clumped and dirty, hang on a body more bones than anything else. He hates that no matter how many of them he takes in, there will still be more that he will never be able to save.

So, yeah, maybe he did appoint himself as the savior of any stray cats he comes across on the way to and from work, but it’s justified. Anyone with a heart could see that.

“Seven, Yuri,” Otabek says. He isn’t mad—he’s never mad at Yuri. “Seven,” he repeats patiently. It’s the seventh one Yuri has brought in in the last few months. They’ve managed to find a home for two of them, but that still means that the warm bundle of fluff Yuri is currently cradling carefully in the crook of his elbow will be the fifth addition to their family.

“I know. I know, okay? I’m sorry. I just. I can’t help it. It—” Yuri pauses, eyes narrowed. He gently lifts the cat away from his chest and peeks underneath it. “He. He’s still so young. He’s so hungry and cold. Look, he’s shivering.”

Otabek exhales audibly, a sort of breathy snort through his nose, and turns toward the bathroom. “I’ll get the bath ready, then.” They’ll have to wash the poor thing for the next week with the special shampoo they have in bottles upon bottles under the sink, to make sure any ticks or other pests are removed. They’ll have to take him to the vet for his shots, get him sterilized before he takes a liking to the girls. They’ll need more cat food, too.

Yuri sighs and follows at Otabek’s heels.

.

The cat bites and scratches. He is not pleased in the least by the pool of water in which Yuri dunks him, let alone the pungent smell of the shampoo. By the time Yuri finishes, triumphantly clutching around the skinny ribcage of what looks more like a soaked rag than a cat, there are thin red lines stretching from his hands all the way to his elbows. His sweater is almost as wet as the cat itself, and there are sure to be scrapes on his chest, where the cat had clawed before Yuri had managed to send him into the water.

The cat is far more partial to the warm heat of the blowdryer—that, or his earlier struggle in the bath had sapped the last of his energy. When they finally emerge from the bathroom, Otabek has set fresh bowls of food and water in the kitchen, and the cat falls upon them with ravenous hunger. The other four cats are locked in the bedroom so as not to overwhelm their newest stray with too many sights, sounds, smells, and people. Or cats. Whichever.

“You’ll catch a cold if you don’t change out of that.” Otabek points at Yuri’s sweater. He has settled on the couch in the living room, watching Yuri as Yuri watches the cat from a safe distance, careful not to disturb his meal.  

When Yuri doesn’t move to take it off, showing no indication that he has heard Otabek’s comment at all, Otabek stands up and pulls Yuri away, back to the couch. Yuri, exhausted, falls right into Otabek’s lap, knees on either side of his hips, face nuzzled in the juncture between Otabek’s neck and collarbone. Otabek presses a kiss to the side of his head and slips his hands under Yuri’s sweater, stroking across warm skin as he pulls the sweater over Yuri’s arms and head. Yuri shivers instantly, pressing closer as Otabek hugs him tightly.

“Sorry,” Yuri says quietly. His breath tickles Otabek’s collarbone, hot and moist.

“Don’t be.”

“Thank you for putting up with this every time.”

“If I didn’t want to put up with this, I wouldn’t be dating you, Yuri. I like this about you, just like I like everything else. Even if this is the seventh one.” It’s quiet for a couple moments, as Otabek waits for Yuri to get over his embarrassment. Otabek is not one to hide his affection—rather, he’s quite brazen with it, as Yuri never fails to point out. Yuri is used to it in public, but in private, when it’s just the two of them, the things Otabek says sound a lot more intimate, mean something more. He’s still getting used to it, even though they’ve been together for two years.

Eventually, Yuri breaks the silence. “What should we name him?” The words are a bit muffled against Otabek’s skin, and Otabek enjoys the way they carve into his collarbone.

“Whiskers.”

Yuri snorts, pulling back. “Yeah? And how about we find a kid named leg? Naming animals after their body parts is stupid.”

Otabek laughs, kissing Yuri to appease him. “Don’t get so defensive. What do _you_ want to name him?” A lesser man would have long gotten tired of Yuri’s sudden flare-ups, but Otabek is no lesser man. He rather likes Yuri when he gets so unexpectedly feisty.

Yuri grumbles, but settles back against Otabek’s chest. “Jack.”

“How uninteresting,” Otabek quips.

And Yuri flares up again, drawing away with a sound akin to a growl. “Listen here, you j—”

Otabek laughs, catching Yuri’s lips in another kiss. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he promises, breathless, laughter locked between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smut usually takes me longer to write so you will have to wait a little longer for the a/b/o continuation srry
> 
> If you like my writing, please consider leaving me a small tip on my [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/jezzberry)


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